


Elven Arrow

by pirl



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies)
Genre: Gen, Post-Battle of Five Armies, spoilers?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-13
Updated: 2014-12-13
Packaged: 2018-03-01 07:32:32
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2764910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pirl/pseuds/pirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tauriel makes one last visit to Erebor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Elven Arrow

**Author's Note:**

> Full disclosure: I have not read "The Hobbit," BUT it's kinda hard not to know what's going to happen, so I hope I get it right. As for Tauriel... who knows? This is more than likely going to get Jossed when the final movie comes out, but what the hell. So I'm not going to warn for spoilers because unless you've been disconnected from the internets for the past year and have never read the book, none of this is news to you. (And wow! Where've you been?!?)
> 
> Thanks again to my roommate/beta [pollitt](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pollitt/pseuds/pollitt). Enjoy, or send raspberries.

Frar unleashed a fearsome roar as she swung her sword and sliced the orc in half with her mighty swing. She pivoted quickly on her toes and lunged forward, stabbing the one that thought it could sneak up behind her right in the chest. Throwing her weight back she attempted to take on the orc that was about to slay the King, but she fumbled her steps. She tried to right herself but her momentum was too much and she ended up crashing shoulder-first onto the ground. Her sword flew from her hand and skittered across the stone floor far from her reach.

She swore out loud and her rough growls echoed off the walls of the large and empty hall. Slapping her hands on the cold stone floor she pushed herself up, brushed her tunic down and walked over to retrieve her sword. Well, it was not actually a sword but rather two sticks lashed together to mimic a sword. But Frar still revered it as a symbol of independence and honor, no matter the craftsmanship.

Down in the tombs Frar was alone, which made it the perfect place to practice her swordplay. But more importantly, no one would come looking for her there, which was very wise since she wasn't supposed to be practicing with swords anyway. Female dwarflings weren't allowed to play with swords or bows or anything else the King's guard used to defend the realm. But Frar couldn't imagine the alternative, which was cooking, sewing and tooling leather with her mother. 

"My hands were made to kill orcs," she thought as dipped to pick up her sword once more in a firm grip. She swung it around, dropping quickly into a crouch to hew the legs from the body of another orc. 

Like all little ones in Erebor, Frar and her older brothers were raised hearing the stories of Durin the Deathless, Galurung the Deceiver, Nárin's unbreakable chain and Thorin Oakenshield. Many of the names from those stories were also entombed in the very hall she practiced in, so Frar liked to think that perhaps what made them great warriors would somehow seep into her and make her great as well. 

Out of all the stories, her favorite was that of Kíli Elvenarrow. From the line of Durin, he was one of the company of dwarves who retook Erebor, her home, from Smaug the Dragon. There were, to be sure, many stories from that time in their histories, but what had interested her most about the story was the part about the elf. Tauriel, the she-elf captain of the Woodland Realm who fought alongside Kíli Elvenarrow, fought for the dwarves of Erebor and fought for the Men of Lake Town. Though dwarves and elves had been sworn enemies for centuries, Tauriel and Elvenarrow had forsaken expectations so they could join in battle to rid Middle Earth of evil. 

Once, when Frar was very small, Ori the storyteller had visited Erebor. She had doted on him and followed him like a shadow, begging for story after story while she tugged and pulled on his cloak. His version of Kíli Elvenarrow was her favorite because he spoke in detail how the dwarf and elf fought together. "One inhaling while the other exhaled. One nocking an arrow while the other loosed their own into the heart of their common enemy. The complement they shared with one another was earth and moon, wind and fire. They lay ruin to all that had the misfortune to cross their path upon the battlefield." 

But all heroes must die eventually if they are to be remembered in stories and song. Kíli Elvenarrow continued to bring down his enemies that day, even after he had been delivered a fatal blow. And when his own quiver ran empty he spent Tauriel's, using every last one of her elven made arrows on his dwarven bow. Each arrow is said to have landed deadlier and truer than the one before until the very last one was loosed. That arrow soared in a high arc, never finding its target, and by the time it fell harmless to the ground Kíli had drawn his last breath. It was that day on the battlefield where he was forever memorialized with the name of Elvenarrow. 

Frar was concentrating once again on killing orcs. Perhaps this time she could save Kili's life. She was lunging when a low, calm voice came from the entryway to the hall. 

"You must swing from your center if you wish your blade to strike firm and fatal."

The crisp words recoiled off the stone walls and seemed to resonate louder than they were delivered. Frar gasped in fright and nearly fell over again as she caught sight of the tall, willowy figure standing in the entrance. She held her breath, considering if she should run or stand her ground as her grip tightened around the worn wood in her hand, when the stranger lowered their hood and revealed long amber hair.

"Bless my beard, it's you!" Frar cried out, astonished. "T-Tauriel the Healer, Defender of Dwarves! Shieldmaiden and Guardian of the Mirkwood! Lady Starlight!" 

Tauriel ducked her head, concealing a small smile. "I dare believe you made a few of those up."

Frar nodded emphatically. "But they're all true and proper. You're legend!"

The elf sighed heavily. "Ah, little one, let us not speak of legends. This is a grave hall. Legend is for hearth fires and wine. Please, tell me your name."

"I am Frar, daughter of Garâl."

"Greetings Frar, daughter of Garâl. Come, tell me why you practice among the dead."

Frar was silent for a moment. It flashed in her mind that she shouldn't be talking to the elf, that she should be hidden from the eyes of an outsider like other dwarrowdam. But that was precisely why she was here, in this hall, renouncing what was intended for her. With a firm voice she answered, "I practice so there'll be no more tombs."

"A good answer." Tauriel reached out her hand, silently asking Frar to give her wooden sword over.

Shame engulfed Frar as the elf examined her makeshift weapon. Her voice was small when she spoke, "It's not real of course. I'm not allowed to have a real one because females do not take up arms." Suddenly Tauriel swung Frar's sword with a precision and grace that belied the potency of the weapon. Frar watched in awe. "I've begged my father to be properly trained so I can defend our home. But my mother worries, says that I'll only get myself hurt even though I promise her I won't."

Tauriel stopped swinging the wooden sword, holding the toy at her side and softly said, "You should not make promises to your mother that you may not be able to honor." 

A long moment passed as Tauriel looked upon the dwarfling's face, staring at Frar as if searching for something. The whole time Frar defiantly held her ground with a determined look on her face.

"I can see your convictions. Are you willing to trade?" Tauriel asked.

"Trade?"

"Yes. Your sword for one of mine." Tauriel swiftly and fluidly unhitched a strap, releasing a medium length scabbard from her back. Twisting the leather sheath and fastenings in the air with the flip of a hand, she offered the handle to Frar whose eyes widened in disbelief. "You need a proper weapon if you're going to become a defender of the realm one day. Just remember you are a part of this world, not just the lands you can see from your kingdom's gates." 

Tauriel then excused herself and walked across the room to stand before the tomb of Kíli Elvenarrow. The low, large stone vault was nestled among those of Kíli's brother Fili, and Thorin Oakenshieild, neither of which Tauriel seemed to take notice of. Frar watched as the elf pulled a small phial from her cloak that glowed bright in the comparatively darker hall. She bowed her head while softly speaking in Elvish and nestled the phial into the geometry of the tomb's carvings. She lingered a while longer, her eyes closed as her hands gently rested on the stone.

Frar turned as the guilt of intrusion finally caught up with her. She focused her attention to the sword Tauriel had traded her. She admired the weight of the steel and the serpentine, leaf-like designs along the hilt while she thought of hiding places she could store it. But as she strapped the blade to her side she wondered if it was time to hold her ground and demand that she become properly trained for the King's guard. She was of age, if only she were male.

After a while Tauriel eventually walked back toward Frar. Her gaze was focused on a small stone that she was slowly turning over in her hands when Frar spoke.

"Are you going to leave Middle Earth too, like the other elves?" Asking the question distressed Frar immensely. All the elves leaving for the Undying Lands seemed so sad to her. Like a fire dying out, it left her feeling wistful. 

"Perhaps." Tauriel pocketed the stone and brought her hood over her head once more. "Farewell Frar, defender of Erebor."

Frar waited and watched as Tauriel the Healer, Defender of Dwarves, Shieldmaiden and Guardian of the Mirkwood, and Lady Starlight silently left the tombs before she unsheathed her new sword and killed more orcs.


End file.
